


The King and The Whore

by bigredcrazyk



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, King Derek Hale, M/M, Royal Hales, Slave Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 15:46:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2234565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigredcrazyk/pseuds/bigredcrazyk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles didn’t understand the purpose for receiving a royal summons. He was no more than a common tramp; a slave whore who belonged to Lord Jordan Parrish and served at his prominent brothel in Beacon Hills, capital city of the kingdom ruled by Derek Hale. Derek was a vivacious, young monarch with a tenacity for conquest and glory, but also a fair and just leader that the people of his kingdom had not known in recent years after Peter, Derek’s uncle and rightly nicknamed the Tyrant King among both friend and foe, had dominated the lands mercilessly and executed many of his own court upon paranoid accounts of treason. Peter met his timely fate at the end of an assassin’s sharp daggar, and although it was never discovered who hired the king slayer, many whispers contributed his death to the lords of Beacon Hills rather than foreign rivals.....</p>
            </blockquote>





	The King and The Whore

 

 

Stiles didn’t understand the purpose for receiving a royal summons. He was no more than a common tramp; a slave whore who belonged to Lord Jordan Parrish and served at his prominent brothel in Beacon Hills, capital city of the kingdom ruled by Derek Hale. Derek was a vivacious, young monarch with a tenacity for conquest and glory, but also a fair and just leader that the people of his kingdom had not known in recent years after Peter, Derek’s uncle and rightly nicknamed the Tyrant King among both friend and foe, had dominated the lands mercilessly and executed many of his own court upon paranoid accounts of treason. Peter met his timely fate at the end of an assassin’s sharp daggar, and although it was never discovered who hired the king slayer, many whispers contributed his death to the lords of Beacon Hills rather than foreign rivals.

It was late that evening when Stiles was met by his master and two of the King’s Guard. He was readying himself for a night with one of his regular clients and a personal favorite, Lord Christoph Argent. Stiles was a fit lad; a lean physique with brunette hair and large, honey-amber eyes. He had feminine features: high cheekbones, an elegant neck, and pretty, full lips. He’d just finished shaving his body and scrubbing down in the bathhouse reserved for concubines when they came for him.

“My Little Doe,” Parrish called him, “it seems His Grace has sent for you. You are to go with them at once.”

Stiles quickly donned his finest, white tunic and blue cloak. He laced his leather sandals before being whisked away. The youth was nervous as he trotted along with each guardsman bearing the triskelion and moon sigil synonymous with House Hale on either side of him. The time spent to navigate the busy, cobblestone streets was nearly a half hour before reaching the towering palace set atop the highest hill. His entire life was spent in the capital, but never once had he been there. It was quite an overwhelming experience for him. Only the lords were allowed audience with the king, so Stiles’ curiosity was budding by the time they reached the Moon Tower, the central spire that stretched skyward higher than the others. The king’s personal chambers lie at its peak, and the spiral, stone stairs seemed endless as they climbed to their destination. Two more of the King’s Guard were stationed at his large, ornate doors, and they parted so that Stiles and the men with him could enter.

After knocking to make their presence known, one of them stated, “Your Grace, we’ve retrieved the boy you asked for.”

King Derek stepped inside from the balcony dressed in silk robes of deep purple and silver; they hung open over an impressively sculpted torso. His raven-black hair was cut cleanly behind his ears and he had facial scruff that was equally trimmed. The young man was tall, paced with confidence, and his eyes were a stunning, pale shade of green. Stiles found him immediately attractive, handsome, and well-bred.

“Thank you, Sir Lahey. Leave us,” he commanded in an assertive tone. His voice was deep, husky, yet also refined. Once the guardsmen departed, he began to pour a goblet of wine for himself and offered some to Stiles. “Would you like? Tis leagues better than the mead served at Parrish’s brothel.”

Stiles wet his lips. “Aye, Your Grace. I am parched.”

The king nodded as he poured more into another of the jewel-encrusted goblets before handing it to the boy.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Stiles said timidly upon taking the cup from him.

“Do you know why you’ve been summoned to my private quarters?” Derek asked smoothly.

Stiles shook his head after sipping the burgundy wine. He was sure to keep his gaze diverted to the king’s feet. “Nigh, Your Grace.”

“I summoned you cause of popular rumor among my Lords and Ladies; Parrish’s most gifted arse for sell. How many coppers does he charge for an eve with you?”

“A dozen silver, Your Grace,” the whore answered cautiously.

“A dozen silver?!” King Derek gasped. “My, my… what an expensive piece of tail. I ne’er heard him charge more than four silver for his best. You must be exceptional. Tis exactly what I’m in search of. My late concubine no longer sated my appetites and I find myself in need of another.”

“And what of he?” Stiles asked brashly. “Beheaded for not attending your every whim?”

The king smirked. “You’re fiery. I fancy that… but you mistake me for my uncle. I am not the tyrant he was. I lined my concubine’s pockets with silver and sent him on his way, free to fulfil his own whims. I believe he hired a ship to ferry him to his homeland so that he might be reunited with his family. Do you have a family, boy?”

Surprised by the royal’s words, Stiles hesitated before responding. “Nigh, Your Grace. My father sold me into slavery to pay a debt before drinking himself to the grave. My mother parted from this world when I was young, and I was an only son.”

“No family and no home,” the king continued. “How old are you, boy?”

“Seventeen summers, Your Grace,” the youth replied as Derek began to circle him slowly, eyeing him over like a succulent pig.

“And what are your talents?”

“I’m a fair dancer, a sword swallower, and I play the harp well,” Stiles responded with a hint of pride in his tone.

Derek only chuckled. “I’ve dozens dancers, and the greatest harpist of the kingdom plays for my bride queen. I’m not interested in how well you can pluck strings or swallow steel. If you are to keep my bed warm at night, I’m only curious of you talents between thy sheets.”

Stiles swallowed down a gulp of wine. He spoke quietly, and as he did, the king took the goblet from him and sat them down. He began to unfastened the youth’s faded, blue cloak with care. “I am flexible… I can put my ankles behind my neck… and I’ve been told I have an exquisite tongue.” He licked his lips subconsciously as he glanced at his king’s lustful expression. Stiles’ cloak slipped off to the floor. Derek then unlaced his tunic, and the white fabric fell in a bunch around his worn sandals.

The royal’s mouth parted slightly, pleased by the whore’s slender, naked body. “Go on,” he ordered and traced his fingers along Stiles’ collarbone.

“Your Grace, I… I am wildly passionate. I shall do what pleases my Lord or Lady… or you. I only desire your pleasures… and I’m good at it… I offer you my body, my attention, my intimacy.”

Derek rubbed his palm down Stiles’ pale, bare shoulder and arm as he continued to pace around him. His touch made Stiles quiver and breathe deeply. He wasn’t expecting the king to be so tender and yet blatantly forward.

“Do you know why I am called The Wolf?” Derek asked him as he stepped behind the boy. His voice had grown harsher.

“You are a ferocious warrior, Your Grace.”

“That I am, however, tis not the only reason. My loins are ravenous and my desires insatiable.” As he finished his statement, Derek cupped the slave’s right buttock and squeezed.

Stiles gasped and arched into the royal’s hand. He glanced over his shoulder and muttered, “Your Grace…”

“What is your name, boy?” Derek inquired before he pressed his lips to Stiles’ neck. He sucked hard on the smooth flesh, marking his skin with a reddish-purple bruise.

Stiles whimpered as his eyes fluttered shut. He was quickly becoming aroused. “I’m called Stiles.”

“Stiles… Very well,” the king went on. “Tell me, how would you like living here in the palace; sleep in my chambers?”

“Pardon, Your Grace, but I don’t think Lord Parrish would see me part from him,” Stiles replied.

Derek chuckled as he stepped away and eyed down the youth’s impressive backside. He was dotted with moles and the king found it very much to his liking. “Parrish will do as I command, as will all of my subjects, but for you, a concubine, I offer a choice. If you find me repugnant or undesirable, you shall not be forced to remain against your will. However, if you remain, you shall be dressed in the finest silks and adorned in jewels and gold. You shall be fed like royalty, bathed daily, and slumber at my side in the most comfortable bed in all the kingdom. Ne’er again shall you be forced to wear shackles, though if you prefer tattered rags and chains, you may return to Parrish’s house of whores.” He grinned and moved back around the front of Stiles. He took the boy’s hard cock in his hand and stroked him. “Would you desire this?”

Stiles nodded, his body trembling with desire.

“You are a delicate thing; beautiful and fair-skinned. I may from time to time be coarse with you for the sake of thy pleasure, but I shall ne’er strike you as punishment. Do you understand?”

Stiles nodded again as he stared into the king’s green orbs. “You like it rough,” he breathed shakily.

Derek smirked at him. “So you do understand. Do you find me ill in appearance or spirit?” he pressed on as he continued to fondle the lad’s manhood.

Stiles shook his head. “Nigh, Your Grace. You are handsome and bold. You know what you desire, and I very much wish to remain here in the palace… in your bed.” He tentatively reached into Derek’s robes and touched his muscular chest. “Would you have me?”

The king smiled. “Again and again.” He pulled the youth into his embrace and kissed him forcefully.

Stiles moaned as his lips and tongue were claimed. He never imagined the opportunity to live such a lavish life, and he didn’t really care what kinks the king may enjoy so long as he never again had to wear a collar.


End file.
